by Roger Sutton
Good experiments that are well explained can link science practice to children’s lives, empowering kids to actively participate in the evaluation of scientific ideas — a key component of scientific literacy. Positioning the reader in an active rather than passive stance toward scientific information is an important step. An author who poses open-ended questions, guides readers in the scrutiny of scientific data, and encourages readers to draw their own conclusions rather than neatly tying up all loose ends rates favorably with me. In the long run, this is what we want for children — to be informed, skeptical interpreters of the scientific information found in newspapers, on television, or on the Internet.
Another measure of quality is the extent to which a science book complements existing books on a given topic. If a child reads several books on a topic, any error in one of the books can be countered with information from additional sources. (Of course, there can also be too much of a good thing. Certain topics are definitely over-represented in children’s science books: endangered baby-animal survival stories, dinosaurs, and natural disasters — to name just a few. While many high-quality books appear on these subjects, they often come at the expense of other, less popular topics. So a good book on a unique or underrepresented theme deserves recognition.)
What are some other criteria? The clarity of the explanations is very important — a scientifically accurate book presented in obscure or jargon-filled language can render a book ineffective. There is an art to explaining science to children, and some authors are able to skillfully balance child-friendly language with scientific rigor. It is helpful to be able to relate to a child in his or her own terms, as Seymour Simon does in Gorillas, for example, when he compares the weight of an adult gorilla to that of “ten second-grade children.”
Illustration is another important issue. While a good design and excellent illustrations can enhance a book’s appeal, they must also be scrutinized for alignment with scientific content and the conventions of scientific representation. A book that includes only decorative photographs or illustrations has missed the opportunity to introduce readers to accepted scientific standards for diagrams and figures — important means of conveying information in scientific communities. In evaluating illustrations I look at accuracy, their match to the text, and the degree to which their captioning helps define their importance to science and scientists. Some artistic license is fine, but not if it overshadows the science. In order to appeal to children, some illustrators stray too far into anthropomorphism, which can compromise the science. In Marilyn Singer’s Tough Beginnings: How Baby Animals Survive, Anna Vojtech’s illustrations of young animals are very appealing but unrealistically cheerful-looking. Other books mesh art and science perfectly, such as Sophie Webb’s My Season with Penguins: An Antarctic Journal. Webb’s sketches of penguin antics offer important scientific data on animal behavior yet still convey the artist’s sense of humor and her affection for the animals.
Cultural inclusiveness is more pertinent than you might think. It is important to encourage all children to consider science as relevant to their lives, in hopes of inspiring some of them to continue on in science and perhaps expand the boundaries of what we consider to be acceptable scientific thinking. While we do see ethnic and gender inclusiveness in collective science biographies, for example, equally important is respect for the contributions of multiple viewpoints in scientific investigations. Sy Montgomery’s The Man-Eating Tigers of Sundarbans is a particularly good example of cultural inclusivity in science. To examine the mystery of why these tigers like to eat people, Montgomery draws on the contributions of scientists and local wildlife experts, religious and cultural myths, and the experiences of everyday people as important sources of evidence. Traditional science cannot solve the puzzle without these other, equally valid, ways of thinking.
Finally, conveying a love of science and nature is a valuable component of any science book. The pleasure of experiencing nature as a scientist would is challenging to convey. When an author manages to accomplish this, it’s a true contribution to readers, providing important insight into the reasons why scientists do what they do.
So what makes a good science book? For me, it’s a book that makes science come alive through explicit treatment of the practices of science; generous links to the people who participate in scientific investigations; consideration of rich, rewarding, and relevant scientific topics; and an engaging, clear, and personal voice. A good book models for children the nature of scientific thinking, provides opportunities for them to engage in this thinking, and uses text, images, and graphics to best convey scientific information. Above all, a good science book is imbued with passion for science and nature, and invites readers to engage with, imagine, and experience science in ways they may never have thought of before.
When I size up children’s science books, I apply three tests. I ask if there is an authentic connection to science and scientists. Has the author tagged along with a scientist, talked to a scientist, read primary science journals, or tried her hand at science? I ask if there is a story. Is there a beginning, a middle, and an end, and are these parts not interchangeable? And I ask if the book manages to suggest in some way — I don’t really care how, so long as it does — why most scientists love being scientists and wouldn’t be anything else, given the chance. In other words, I want it all. I want good science, and I want good literature. I want writers to straddle the old dichotomy between nonfiction (truth) and fiction (story). I value good writing at least as much as correct facts. I want a book written with enthusiasm and love, qualities whose absence deadens most science writing. In the end I’m far more worried about children finding the whole scientific enterprise boring than I am about them getting a fact or two wrong. Facts are cheap, but enthusiasm is rare.
Step into the science section of any library or bookstore (you know — the section way in the back) and you are guaranteed to find plenty of dinosaur books. Few science topics get the star treatment lavished on these creatures. You’ll likely find grisly stories of death and destruction, heartwarming tales of cuddly young dinosaurs, and a host of encyclopedias listing the Latin names for multitudes of dinosaur species. Dig deeper, and there might be fossil field guides, ride-alongs with modern-day paleontologists, and historical accounts of their predecessors. But of all the books published on this one topic, what makes a good dinosaur book?
First of all, walk past the books up front in the picture-book section — the ones that feature talking, thinking, feeling dinosaurs as models for children’s development. As cringe-inducing (Barney) or likable (the appealing dinos in Jane Yolen and Mark Teague’s popular How Do Dinosaurs . . . ? series) as they may be, these books feature dinosaurs as child stand-ins, not as objects of scientific inquiry. However, heading back to the nonfiction section does not guarantee informational accuracy, either. Some science-y dinosaur books use artistic license in their portrayals of dinosaurs by presenting them as peaceful and calm, or focusing only on behavioral traits that align with the ones we humans value.
So a good dinosaur book tells it like it is. Dinosaurs were not nice or mean; they were animals. They cooperated with other animals when there were advantages to doing so, and they beat one another up when there were advantages to doing so. Different species had different levels of aggression. There were no moral dilemmas involved in dinosaurs’ decisions to defend their mates from rivals or to kill their weaker offspring to ensure survival of the stronger.
A good dinosaur book is careful to represent dinosaurs in shapes and colors that are as accurate as the evidence can support. Cartoonlike dinosaurs in soft pastels with big round eyes and hints of smiles on their faces mislead readers. While it’s true that scientists don’t have a whole lot to go on in terms of what dinosaurs looked like, it’s probably safe to say they weren’t mint green, mauve, or baby blue.
A good dinosaur book doesn’t contradict scientific evidence but instead brings something new to it, such as Steve Jenkins’s Prehistoric,
Actual Size (see following image), in which true-to-scale representations help readers to conceptualize how big or small these creatures were. If you don’t have a museum handy, this book is a great substitute. Robert Sabuda and Matthew Reinhart’s wonderful Encyclopedia Prehistorica series also is a leap forward in visualizing dinosaurs and their contemporaries. The three-dimensional paper representations allow readers to turn, touch, and scrutinize dinosaurs in ways not possible before. And although the colors used are bright, they are not outside the norms found in nature.
Among dinosaur books is a subgenre that is the polar opposite of the pink, cuddly, friendly dinosaur books: the doomsday, death-and-destruction books. I’ll admit I much prefer these. Although they have the potential to be too scary for some readers, they are more realistic, if sometimes overly dramatic. Who can resist the real-life events at the end of the Cretaceous period — an asteroid crashing into Earth, a fiery sky of doom followed by ash clouds, no sun, and the slow death of species no longer supplied with what they need to survive? Revel in this death and destruction as in The Day the Dinosaurs Died by Charlotte Lewis Brown, and you’ve got a good read with accurate science. Even better are books that put the peril narrative into perspective, helping us understand how these patterns of long periods of slow change followed by big events have altered life on Earth repeatedly over a few billion years. Franklyn M. Branley’s What Happened to the Dinosaurs? manages to capture the complexity without sacrificing clarity.
A good dinosaur book can also be one that — gasp! — does not focus solely on dinosaurs. The Cretaceous period was teeming with amazing flora and fauna, some of which were also wiped out at the time of asteroid impact. Giant ferns! Super bugs! Why should dinosaurs get the starring role all the time? How about a book about bacteria? Those critters survived multiple mass extinctions over the history of Earth. I guess no one’s figured out how to make bacteria cute — or ferocious.
Too often, science books focus on individual organisms rather than species interrelationships in an ecosystem. A good dinosaur book allows dinosaurs to share the spotlight with others. Plants and smaller animals didn’t exist just so that dinosaurs could eat them — they were part of a complex balance of organisms dependent on one another. Aliki’s classic Fossils Tell of Long Ago includes dinosaur fossils among those of many other organisms whose fossilized remains help us understand the past. Patricia Lauber’s Living with Dinosaurs turns the typical dinosaur book on its head, as Douglas Henderson’s illustrations show us the world from the dinosaur’s perspective, allowing the complex ecosystem to take center stage.
While branching out from just dinosaurs is a good thing, it’s also important that a good dinosaur book stick to its proper time period. Dinosaurs and woolly mammoths (not to mention Homo sapiens) did not coexist, so please don’t put them in the same book. Doing so makes it very difficult to convey the vast periods of time that separate these species and the incremental evolutionary development that explains when and if they’re related. (A good book about that second most popular extinct creature, though, is Sandra Markle’s Outside and Inside Woolly Mammoths.)
Most importantly, a good dinosaur book fully embraces the complex and fundamental scientific theories that underlie this seemingly straightforward topic. Nearly every major branch of science intersects with dinosaurs in some way. The rise and fall of the dinosaurs is a case study in evolution, particularly in understanding the origins of modern birds. Books such as A Nest of Dinosaurs: The Story of Oviraptor by Mark A. Norell and Lowell Dingus showcase the evidence that supports these findings and the ways that scientists piece it all together. The structure of the universe and the early history of the solar system help explain the asteroid impact that devastated the dinosaur population. The chemical reactions and meteorological patterns in the atmosphere and on land explain why some living things suffered and others didn’t. Geological processes explain why dinosaur fossils are found in some places on Earth and not others, and why they even still exist millions of years after the organisms that made them died. Asteroid Impact by Douglas Henderson is one of the few books that dig into these areas of science, and Henderson’s dramatic, detailed art illustrates the major events without overdoing it. The field of paleontology is based on a relatively limited set of evidence, which provides plenty of opportunities to discuss the community of scientists and how they convince one another of their ideas. Indeed, this is an area of strength in dinosaur books, with plenty of good ones to mention. Dinosaurs at the Ends of the Earth: The Story of the Central Asiatic Expeditions by Brian Floca gives historical perspective on turn-of-the-last-century science. Nic Bishop’s Digging for Bird-Dinosaurs updates readers with a modern field expedition to Madagascar to see how fossils are uncovered, while Sandra Markle’s Outside and Inside Dinosaurs gives us the technology used when those fossils return to the laboratory. Kathleen V. Kudlinski in Boy, Were We Wrong about Dinosaurs! dares to admit that scientific ideas change as new theories and evidence are introduced.
But if all this wealth fails to satisfy; if only a comprehensive compendium of information will do, try Thomas R. Holtz, Jr.’s Dinosaurs: The Most Complete, Up-to-Date Encyclopedia for Dinosaur Lovers of All Ages. If there is anything paleontology enthusiasts wish to know, they will find it here: geology and geological history, fossil hunting and dating, evolution, prehistoric ecology, and, of course, the dinosaurs themselves — forty-two chapters of exceptionally detailed information about the major classifications, including sidebars written by practicing paleontologists that emphasize cutting-edge research areas.
Each of the books above illustrates components of what makes a good dinosaur book: taking on challenging topics as accurately yet as creatively as possible, illuminating aspects of scientific theory and practice that help readers understand their nature, and never losing the wonder and excitement felt by scientists and children alike when imagining what Earth must have been like when dinosaurs were around.
MORE GREAT SCIENCE BOOKS
Nic Bishop, Frogs
48 pp. Grades K–3. This informative book covers anatomical, behavioral, and reproductive facts about frogs. The photographs in vivid colors are stunningly crisp and beautifully printed.
Sarah C. Campbell, photographs by Sarah C. Campbell and Richard P. Campbell, Wolfsnail: A Backyard Predator
32 pp. Grades PS–2. A predatory wolfsnail tracks an unlucky garden snail. The spare text highlights the wolfsnail’s single-minded focus, and each step of the attack is illustrated with an exceptional close-up photograph.
Jason Chin, Redwoods
40 pp. Grades 1–4. A young boy waiting for the subway starts reading a book about redwood trees and embarks on an imaginative journey through the redwood forest. What sets this book apart is the pairing of the fantastical visual narrative with a straightforward nonfiction text. A contagious celebration of the relationship between information and imagination.
Nicola Davies, illustrations by Neal Layton, Just the Right Size: Why Big Animals Are Big and Little Animals Are Little
64 pp. Grades 4–6. Davies and Layton explore the rules that control what bodies can and can’t do, taking a close look at the difference between “little things” and “big things” to explain why there are no giant spiders and why humans can’t fly. The book integrates humor (especially in the cartoon illustrations) and riveting scientific information.
James M. Deem, Bodies from the Ice: Melting Glaciers and the Recovery of the Past
64 pp. Grades 4–6. After introducing the oldest ice mummy (5,300-year-old Otzi), Deem gives readers a tour of mummified bodies found in ice the world over. The design, with its variety of photographs, captions, and sidebars, seals the appeal.
Steve Jenkins, Dogs and Cats
40 pp. Grades 3–5. Jenkins clearly presents scientific information in this uniquely styled flip-book comparison of dogs and cats featuring his trademark cut-paper illustrations. An inviting, multidimensional introduction to the pets we love.
David Macaulay
with Richard Walker, The Way We Work: Getting to Know the Amazing Human Body
336 pp. Grade 9 and up. Macaulay (The Way Things Work) turns his prodigious curiosity and formidable talents to human anatomy and physiology. Humor occasionally leavens the information, which, though often complex, is clearly and succinctly presented in double-page spreads, accompanied by an illuminating array of illustrations.
Sy Montgomery, photographs by Nic Bishop, Kakapo Rescue: Saving the World’s Strangest Parrot (Scientists in the Field)
74 pp. Grades 4–6. Montgomery and Bishop trek to Codfish Island off New Zealand’s coast to cover, with in-depth description and glorious photography, naturalists’ efforts to save the kakapo. Layered into the engrossing account is information on New Zealand’s unique biodiversity and the devastating consequences of human settlement on its ecosystem.
Catherine Thimmesh, Lucy Long Ago: Uncovering the Mystery of Where We Came From
64 pp. Grades 4–6. Thimmesh examines the discovery of and research surrounding Lucy, one of the most important early hominid skeletons found to date. The text details what scientists are able to extrapolate from Lucy’s bones. Explanatory sidebars, diagrams, and plentiful photographs of fossils and reconstructed hominids provide excellent support.
There was, in the house I lived in as a child, a large bookcase extending from floor to ceiling in the living room. In it books were arranged, logically, with the easier books at the bottom, within a child’s reach, and the more difficult adult titles higher up. I aspired to the top shelf. I remember from time to time during my childhood dragging a chair over, standing on it, and pulling from the top shelf a book called Pride and Prejudice. I knew this to be a wonderful book from the reverence with which older members of my family spoke of it. So it was always with a sense of failure and frustration that I flipped through the pages, trying to read the occasional paragraph or sentence. I was missing something. Each time, I had to slide Pride and Prejudice back into place on the top shelf and set my sights a bit lower.